Page 2 of Temptation
I dug my nails into my palms, trying to drown out the sounds coming from the first floor of our house. The weather outside looked how I felt—thunderous, angry, on the brink of breaking apart. There was a storm brewing inside my chest, and I was old enough to know that it shouldn’t stay inside.
But how could I let it all out?
This entire house smelled like her, and every corner I took, wherever I went, it was as if she followed me, caressing my skin, drawing invisible droplets of blood. I wanted to cry, but Father’s words echoed around my skull, bouncing back and forth, fighting against the invisible need to shatter, to break free.
“Blackwood’s never beg, son,” he told me the other day, his eyes boring into me, burning me. “We don’t cry. We are the strongest force this town has ever seen, and I want you to remember that.”
And I didn’t cry. I never begged, even when she started hurting me. I never said a word, and it ate me alive.
Thunder sliced through the sky, the lightning following like an old friend, illuminating our front porch. Goosebumps erupted over my skin as the night started descending slowly, but I still wasn’t ready to go back inside—to face her.
I hugged my knees, shivering as the storm started picking up, reflecting how I felt on the inside.
If only I could leave.
If only I could run away, never to look back, I would.
But I was smarter than that. I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive out there all on my own, so I had to wait. A few more years were nothing if it meant I would be able to get away from her.
“Dylan!” Her voice bounced against the walls of the house, traveling all the way to me through the open front door. I flinched, my eyes momentarily closing of their own volition. Deep inside, a familiar fear uncurled, waiting for her punishment.
In front of other people, she always looked so loving, so kind, so happy, but I knew better. I knew what went on behind the closed doors of our house. I just couldn’t say it out loud. Somehow it felt more real if I said it out loud. As if I was going to give this horror she bestowed upon me more power if I told them what she did.
Even my father didn’t know. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care.
“Dylan! If you don’t come up, I will—”
“I’m coming!” I shouted, gritting my teeth, hating how weak I sounded. Yet, I had no choice but to obey her.
I pushed myself up and started shaking off the debris from my black pants. I was lucky that she didn’t come down, because if she saw me like this… No, no, I didn’t want to think about it now.
Maybe she was better today, right? Maybe knowing that my father was coming back from his business trip would make her feel happier and less inclined to bother me.
But I knew that all these were only wishful thoughts, keeping me alive for a moment, painting a much prettier picture than what was actually waiting for me once I went upstairs.
Our house was quiet, too quiet without my father walking around, smiling at me, talking on his phone. Without our maid, Marija, who got fired by my mother three days ago. At least while she was here, I felt like I could breathe.
But now I know that even that was stolen from me. Those little moments where I felt as if I truly belonged in the body of a nine-year-old, my heart thumping happily when Marija baked, somehow, even though she didn’t know, protecting me from her.
I was all alone now, and as I stepped back inside, the eerie sounds of the wind hitting the sides of our house, the tremors I fought against started rocking through my body.
One step, and then two, and three and four, and I was in front of the staircase leading to the first floor. A crow cawed from somewhere, and I turned around only to see a little black creature standing right on our porch, staring back at me with its beady eyes.
As dark as the night descending on Winworth, it cawed, making me jump back. The hair at the nape of my neck stood up as it came closer to the door, tilting its head to the side—observing, looking—while I stayed frozen, unable to move.
Crows were locals. Whoever came to Winworth, no matter the time of the year, they could see them. They could hear them. I never saw one this close to me. I saw them in the distance whenever we went to the cemetery, but none of them ever approached.
Not like this one.
“Shoo.” I swatted with my hand, but instead of scaring her, the crow cawed again, coming closer and closer, until she reached the threshold.
I should’ve closed the door.
I should’ve—
“Dylan!”
Jesus. Her voice wasn’t melodic and basked in honey anymore. She was angry, and I knew I would rather stay downstairs with the crow that looked ready to attack than to go upstairs.
